A Desperate Cry from Gaza: Voices of Survival and Hope.

I'm Mokhtar. I majored in Arabic literature and intended to become an Arabic language teacher, as the nature of things suggests. However, residing in besieged, densely populated Gaza, plagued by unemployment even before October 7th, forced me to seek alternative means of livelihood. Hence, I learned the dental industry as an additional profession and worked in it for five years. Just two months before the war broke out, I managed to open a dental laboratory, investing all I had. On the fourth day of the war, my laboratory was bombed, and I lost everything at once.

‎‏Then began the long and arduous journey of multiple displacements. I survived bombing at least ten times during these displacements. The path was littered with corpses, and the first thing I noticed about them was their teeth, starkly standing out in the faces of decomposed bodies, painting Gaza as an endless horror movie.

‎‏I got injured multiple times; my wound still bleeds daily. There is no treatment in Gaza to stop the bleeding; I am only living with it, changing the bandage without proper medical care.

‎‏I've survived four wars before this one, never considering leaving Gaza, my beloved city. But this genocide war is on another level of violence. I must safeguard myself while death is lurking from every corner.

I must ensure my survival and that of my brother Ibrahim, who is like my son. He's only ten years old, loves football, and deserves the chance to learn, eat, and sleep without trembling from the sound of bombing and the possibility of death.

He was a very laughing boy before the war.

I'm also worried about my brother Ahmed, as his footballing future has ended. My brother was a professional football player in Gaza; he had big dreams, like playing professionally abroad. Now, circumstances have changed. My brother dreams of sleeping at home, eating to his fill, and having clean water. Above all, he dreams of a sky that doesn't bring death upon us. Perhaps he will return to his dream, and life will give him a second chance to continue his football journey.

‎‏I have lost many loved ones in this brutal war, but mourning seems like a luxury. Trapped for 35 harrowing days in the Shifa'a medical compound, I miraculously escaped amidst constant shelling along the escape route. They label it a safe passage, but it's the passage of death. In one heart-stopping moment, a soldier singled out a person in a black shirt to pull him out of the line and take him into captivity, and I wished to disappear. Somehow, I melted into the crowds miraculously and reached the displacement area where my family had already arrived in the south of Gaza. Then, we were displaced once more from Khan Younis to Rafah. Now, I find myself alone in Rafah, severed from half my friends who fled and the other half who were martyred. I am in the tent, and the hope to return to my home in northern Gaza, not even to its rubble, is fading.

Wait in this tent, bracing for the looming threat of invasion. The whispers of impending danger grow louder each day, and I know that Rafah could be overrun at any moment. I am trying to survive. I want to leave Gaza for Egypt because I feel like my chances of survival are diminishing. I need an opportunity for medical treatment, and I need a chance to start anew to establish a new laboratory. I need your help to save my exhausted spirit, my bleeding wound, my shattered dreams, and my family, waiting for me to take them to a safe place after half a year of genocide. Any support extended to me now carries immense weight, for my heart is weary from the ceaseless fear, displacement, and uncertainty.

Mokhtar Hamdi

6/4/2024

Gaza